Slaying The Purple Gryphon
by Cynamin
Summary: Buffy dreams of a Slayer of the past that may be the key to her future.


##  Slaying the Purple Gryphon

by Cynamin

Author's Notes: This story has nothing to do with any of my other stories, for once. Isn't that nice to hear? As for where this story came from - An e-mail signature line, a renaissance faire, and one of my strange dreams. (All of my friends who've heard about "Han Solo: Giant Multi-Colored Slug" are cringing now.) 

I don't own: Buffy, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya, Angel . . . etc. They're not mine, never were mine, never will me mine. What I do own is any characters you don't recognize, such as Corliss, and this very odd plot. Any comments are not only welcome, but begged for! 

For more of my stories, visit http://www.geocities.com/~cynandmeg 

This story won Felicity's Millenium Fic Contest - and since this was the first fic I ever put on anyone's site other than my own, I'm pretty proud of that. :) 

* * *

  
**Prologue**

The day was deceptively beautiful, blue sky and green hills reflected in the lake's mirror-calm waters. A solitary figure stood in a small boat at the center of the lake, a lone tribute to the battles raged here today. The boat was only barely afloat, a good sized hole in the bottom continuously filling it up with water faster than it could be bailed out. That is, if the occupant of the boat were bailing it. 

She wasn't. Standing at the front of the boat, weary and soaked to the bone, she focused fully on the water around her. In one hand she clasped a wooden pole, crudely sharpened at one end into a makeshift spear. It had been one of the oars at the beginning of this day. She didn't know how she'd get back to shore when this was done, but at the moment she didn't care. She had a duty to fulfill here today, a monster to kill, a world to protect. 

She was the Slayer. 

Granted the strength and skill to fight demons by the Circle while still in her mother's womb, trained from birth in what was her only purpose in life, the young noblewoman did not think beyond the moment. Cursing the unfortunate luck that had her teetering on a sinking boat, she watched for the telltale rippling of the waters that would reveal her foe's approach. She only hoped that it would not surface beneath the boat again. That was what it had done on its first attack, and its spiny back had caused the hole threatening to capsize the craft. This would be its last run, she knew, as she had already wearied and wounded it to the point where it could not last much longer. Now it would only be hoping to take her with it. 

Alert for any disturbance, she watched as one of the creature's many spines broke the lake's perfect surface a ways in the distance. Quickly, it came towards her, just under the surface of the water, the ripples forming in a wake behind it. It was going to ram her boat and take her to the bottom with it. The Slayer knew this, and stood ready, spear clenched in her fist. 

The moment before the creature's impact would have thrown her in the water, she landed in the water of her own accord. Leaping from the boat and deftly avoiding the spines, she landed on the lake creature's back, still clutching her weapon. It dove beneath the water, trying to shake her from its back. Holding her breath and holding on, she would not be moved. It surfaced again, thrashing wildly, and she raised her weapon high, bringing it down viciously into the center of the creature's massive forehead. 

Erupting from the water, the creature convulsed, throwing her off and into the lake. For a moment she thrashed as her voluminous skirts dragged her beneath the surface, then she rose back to the air and breathed deeply in relief. The creature's death throws had destroyed what was left of her boat, and as she watched both creature and boat sank, leaving waters still once more. 

* * *

  
December 24, 1999 

In the dream's wake, Buffy Summers awoke with a start. For a moment she was disoriented, images of another time and place still playing in her mind. The dream dissipated as she awoke and Buffy found herself back within her own room, in her own bed, not in some distance place fighting a lake monster. She sat up, straightening out the blankets that had fallen off as she tossed and turned in her sleep. For a while she lay there, thinking about what she had seen. 

The dream images confused her. She was used to having unusual dreams, because she was the Slayer. Sometimes, she dreamed of what was going to happen, or could happen. Sometimes her dreams gave her messages. Sometimes, like tonight, she dreamed of past Slayers, glimpsing their lives and deaths. But she always knew when the dream was more than a normal dream, when it was supposed to mean something more to her. Like tonight. The only thing was, she had no idea what it meant this time. There was no clear warning to be found, no clear message, just an endless turn of events. 

Buffy was tired. She hadn't slept well the last several nights, though this was the first time she'd remembered the night's visions. Tossing a bit until she was comfortable, she tried to return to sleep. Facing the window, she watched as the sky lightened, the day returning. 

Sighing, she rose from the bed, the dream temporarily forgotten. 

* * *

  
**Part One**

Panting for breath, the Slayer struggled to remain afloat now that both her boat and opponent were gone. The battle over, she was consumed by sudden fatigue. It was all she could do to keep her head above water as her clothes threatened to drag her back down. 

Not even the panic she was beginning to feel was enough to wake up her body for the swim to the shore. She would not - could not - give up, however, and so began what was to be a long and possibly fruitless swim home. It was too calm now, and she could not help but think that she might soon be joining the creature in the lake's darkest waters.   
"Corliss!" 

The voice broke through the silence. It was young, male, and near at hand. 

"Corliss!" the voice came again. 

"Over here!" cried the Slayer in response, sputtering a bit as water entered her mouth. 

A rowboat glided slowly to her side, gently so as not to disturb the water too much. "You look like you could use some help there, sister," the boy said a touch smugly. 

Corliss was in no mood to chitchat with her little brother. "Will you stop talking and get me out of the water, Gareth?" she said testily. 

Without another word, he did so. A moment later Corliss sat in the boat, a warm, dry blanket wrapped around her. "So," asked Gareth as he rowed them both back towards the keep, "what were you doing out here?" 

"Dragon slaying," Corliss replied dryly. 

Her brother looked at her oddly for a moment, then said, "And in your festival clothes, yet. Mother is going to be furious." 

"She'll understand." When her brother continued to look at her with questions in her eyes, she elaborated. "Let's just say we won't be losing anymore livestock," she said. "Or, at least their bones won't be washing up on the shore of the lake. As for any other bones the farmers may find . . . not my problem anymore." 

They continued the rest of the way across the lake in silence. 

One of the household's young pages was there to meet them at the small dock. He quickly got the rowboat tied up, then helped the tired Slayer ashore. "M'lady," he said softly, "your mother sent a message for you. She requests your presence in the courtyard immediately." 

Corliss nodded in acknowledgment, then said, "Tell me, have her guests started arriving yet?" 

"Yes, m'lady." 

Corliss cursed under her breath. Her mother would not be kept waiting, and so she was going to have to appear in front of people strange to her while looking a total mess. Her mother knew what she had been doing, but she couldn't tell others about being the Slayer. She'd need a good excuse for her appearance. 

Walking towards the keep's large courtyard, she thought on what she'd done and what she was going to do. She wished that she'd had time to change her dress before greeting anyone. But she did not have that option anymore, as the garland-strung courtyard became visible. Corliss' shoulders tensed as she saw the gathered people standing and facing in her direction, watching her approach. 

"Mother," she said softly as she arrived. She was confused. No one was paying any attention to her - they were all looking past her. "What's-" 

"Sssh," her mother hushed her. 

"What's everyone looking at?" Corliss asked, stepping beside her mother and turning around. 

"My dear, what happened? You're soaked!" her mother said suddenly, sparing a glance in her direction before returning her gaze to the distance. 

Corliss sighed. "It's nothing, Mother. My . . . uh . . . boat capsized. I'll tell you later." She paused then, scanning the hills surrounding the keep and the lake. "What are you looking at?" 

"Isn't it beautiful?" her mother whispered, pointing. A large, winged creature circled in the sky. "What do you suppose it is, some sort of eagle?" 

Corliss watched warily as it circled above the keep, coming lower and finally coming to a rest in a small copse of trees just a short ways off. It moved oddly, not like a bird on the ground at all, and it was huge. As it wove its way through the trees, coming closer to the keep, Corliss saw that it was indeed not an eagle, for it moved easily on four legs. It moved like a predator, and Corliss' breath caught in her throat. "Mother, get everyone inside." 

"What?" 

"Everyone inside, NOW!" she demanded. "This is not an eagle. Move, Mother, please!" 

Spurred to action by her daughter's forceful words, the lady of the keep began to gather everyone together, ushering them into the safety of the stone walls. Corliss hung back, once again a lone defender between many people and a monster. She watched as the creature approached - a gryphon, she saw now, recognizing it from a book the house mage had made her read once. It was huge, with the powerful body of a lion and a massive wingspan. The largest dangers she could see were its four, sharp talons and the wicked beak. Backing up slowly, Corliss scanned her surroundings for anything that could be used as a weapon. 

The gryphon was coming closer, moving with deadly intentions. Hearing the doors to the keep close behind her, Corliss allowed herself to feel relief that all the guests were out of harm's way. In that moment's inattention to her immediate situation, the gryphon came closer - and Corliss tripped over one of the fallen decorations, a large pole. 

The breath was knocked out of her by her fall. Corliss found herself lying on the ground, getting a much closer look at the gryphon then she ever wanted. The sun glinted off its iridescent purple feathers with black markings as it stepped next to her, leaning down for a closer look. 

Corliss began to speak, trying to lull the beast and divert its attention from her actions. "Pretty thing," she said softly, "so beautiful." Slowly she pulled the pole out from under her, preparing to use it as a weapon. "Beautiful," she crooned, all the while thinking *come on, closer, closer . . .* 

It acknowledged her wish, stepping across her prone form. Corliss caught a glimpse of its unprotected underbelly, and quickly grasped the pole to plunge into its stomach. 

A split second before the pole would have connected, the gryphon reared out of the way with an angry screech. Then, so casually it was almost in slow motion, it brought down one talon and pierced her stomach. Corliss screamed in pain, barely noticing as the gryphon launched itself into the sky, then faded into the distance. 

As everything else faded around her, a voice spoke near at hand. "Hold on, Slayer, hold on." Then, darkness. 

* * *

  
December 25, 1999 

The streets were cheerful in the midday sunlight, holiday decorations intent on bringing some seasonal cheer to the last of the Christmas - or the first of the after-Christmas - shoppers. Street corner Santas and Salvation Army bell ringers added their joyful sounds to the ruckus of the shoppers. 

Somehow, Buffy could not bring herself to join in the spirit of the season. She'd pretended as best she could this morning as she and her mother had exchanged presents. Try as she might, though, she just couldn't get the images from last night's dream out of her head. She tried not to think about it, because when she did she could still feel the death blow that struck her down in her sleep. Even though she thought the girl she'd been seeing in her dreams had been killed, somehow Buffy knew the dreams were not over. And so, on Christmas day, Buffy found herself at Giles's door. 

The door opened quickly as Buffy rang the doorbell. "Buffy," Giles acknowledges, clearly surprised. 

"Merry Christmas, Giles," Buffy said, smiling falsely. 

"Merry Christmas, Buffy. Come in." Buffy did so, closing the door behind her. "What brings you here this morning?" 

"I, uh, brought you a Christmas present," Buffy replied, handing him a parcel the size of a book, wrapped in red and green paper. 

Giles opened it. It was a book, surprise surprise. "Thank you," Giles said. He put aside the book and looked at Buffy seriously. "Not that I mind the company, but why are you here this morning?" 

Was she that obvious? "I couldn't just be stopping by to say hi and wish you a happy holidays?" 

Giles just looked at her. 

"Alright, alright." Buffy stopped pretending, the smile fading from her face. "I had a dream last night...." 

The ex-Watcher was instantly all business. "Do you think it's a prophecy?" 

"Well, no," Buffy replied. "Kinda hard for it to be a prophecy considering it took place in the past." 

"How far in the past?" 

"Like castles and stuff past. It wasn't just a normal dream, though, Giles. It was like I was someone else . . . another Slayer. She was a Slayer . . . I died. Er, she died. In the dream." 

Giles nodded. "You've had dreams before about past Slayers, no?" 

"Yeah, when I was first called," Buffy answered in a *no duh* tone of voice. "This isn't the same." 

"It's not?" Giles was surprised. "How was it different?" 

"'Cause I don't think it's over." When he looked at her in confusion, Buffy continued. "Yeah, I know she died, but it doesn't feel like it's over. And," Buffy added, "this wasn't the first dream." 

"It wasn't? You've dreamed of other Slayers recently?" 

"No, the same one. I'm like seeing her entire life. It's weird." 

Giles frowned. "How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell me before this?" 

"Because I didn't remember the other dreams until today, okay?" Buffy replied testily. Realizing how she sounded, she sighed. "I'm sorry. I really didn't sleep well, and . . . I mean, she died, Giles! I keep seeing it . . .." She took a deep breath to erase the image from her mind for the moment. "I've been having these dreams for a couple of days, I think. I'm not sure. But I know it means something . . .. Do you have any idea?" 

Shaking his head, Giles answered. "No, I'm sorry." 

Buffy brightened suddenly. "Maybe you could find out who she really was?" she asked. "There might be some reason I'm dreaming of her, right?" 

"Well, yes, I could try," Giles answered. "But without the council's records, finding a Slayer from hundreds of years ago...." 

"But you'll try?" 

"I'll try." 

Buffy smiled. "Thanks, Giles. You're the best." She stood to go. 

"Buffy," Giles said, frowning, "I'm going to need to know more about these dreams if I'm going to find out anything." 

"Oh, right," Buffy replied sheepishly, sitting back down. "My own personal dream advisor. Ask away." 

Giles got out a piece of paper and a pen. Buffy laughed slightly, unable to shake the feeling that she was in a psychiatrist's office, but just shook her head when Giles looked at her questioningly. "Alright," he said after a moment, "I don't suppose this would be so convenient as if you remembered the Slayer's name . . .." 

"Corliss," Buffy interrupted. 

"Pardon?" 

"Her name was Corliss. She was like nobility or something . . . I mean, she lived in this castle-like place and all, and someone called her 'm'lady' . . . and she had a younger brother. Does that help?" 

Giles looked at her, blinking in surprise. "Yes, yes that does. Um, do you have any clearer idea of when she was the Slayer? The time period?" 

"It was a dream, not history class," Buffy said with a frown. "I didn't exactly stop at some point to look at a calendar." After a pause she added, "Did I mention there were castles?" 

"Yes, once or twice." 

"Oh, sorry." 

"It's alright, Buffy," Giles said. "Perhaps this will be enough to go on. Do you remember anything else that could help?" 

Buffy shook her head. "That's it. Oh, maybe how she died. She was killed by this giant purple flying creature. I mean, it had wings, and it was huge. It, like . . . sliced her open." Unconsciously, her hand slid to her stomach, where the creature had gored her in her dream. She shuddered. Standing to leave, Buffy looked at Giles one more time. "There was something else odd. I just thought of it." 

"What is it?" 

"Her brother . . . and her mother, everyone . . . they seemed to know who she was. That she was the Slayer." Buffy smiled. "Guess she's a kindred spirit." 

"That is strange," Giles replied. 

"Yeah, well . . .." Buffy could think of nothing more to say. "Happy holidays, Giles." 

"Merry Christmas, Buffy." 

* * *

  
**Part Two**

"She's awakening." 

A buzz of voices. Something was very, very wrong. There was . . . there was . . . 

There was pain. 

A moan. Her voice. It should have been a scream, but a moan was all there was for now. And it was dark, so very dark inside her mind. She was afraid. And that was wrong, too. She wasn't supposed to be afraid of the dark. But this wasn't the sort of dark she could fight. 

"Slayer?" A voice. Near at hand, questioning. She was not alone in the dark. "It's alright, now. Please, open your eyes, m'lady." 

M'lady? Slayer? Who or what was he speaking to? He . . . she knew him, the voice. It was . . . it was a friend. And she . . . *I am the Slayer.* 

Corliss opened her eyes slowly. After the dark, the light was blinding. For a moment she could not see at all, and she gasped in fear. Then a cool hand touched her forehead and her vision cleared. A young man leaned over her. The voice . . . "Leal?" she asked in a whisper. 

The house mage smiled. "That's right," he acknowledged. 

More figures gathered behind him, and Corliss knew them as well. Old and young, they were mages all. They were the Circle, the same circle that had given her her powers as the Slayer, and supported her . . . or used her . . . in their fight against evil. "What's going on? What happened?" 

Leal frowned. "What do you remember, Corliss?" 

The young woman smiled slightly. "I forgot to tell you. I killed that lake monster you found. It's sitting on the bottom now, a large piece of wood through its forehead." 

The house mage smiled slightly. "That's good," he replied like he was appeasing a child. "What do you remember after that?" 

"Gareth got me out of the water," she replied, frowning as she pieced together events. "I . . . was late to Mother's feast . . .. The guests had already arrived before me. I had to join her even though I was soaked. I probably looked awful." 

"Did you now?" Leal replied with a laugh. 

"Nobody noticed, though," Corliss said with a frown. "They were all too busy . . .." Her voice faded away, the following moment playing in her mind. 

"Corliss?" 

The gryphon . . . it had defeated her, slashing her in the stomach. She was dying; she knew she was . . .. Suddenly the Slayer screamed in pain, real and remembered. 

There were hands there, holding her down as she thrashed. One of the mages stepped forward before her swimming vision, and as he lay his hand on her forehead the pain came to a stop, and with it the images playing in her mind. Corliss fell slack, whimpering. 

"Corliss?" Leal asked again, concerned. 

"I . . . I should be dead," the girl whispered. "Why aren't I dead?" 

The members looked at each other, strange guilt reflecting on their faces. "We saved you," Leal said finally, softly. 

Corliss frowned. There was no way they could have saved her. No matter what their magic was, none of the Circle was strong enough to heal death. They could forestall it sometimes, but all fell before fatal wounds. As the Slayer, Corliss knew a fatal wound when she saw one. "How? What aren't you telling me?" Leal's gaze fell to Corliss's chest, where she wore an unusual pendant. Lifting it to look at it better, Corliss frowned. It was not hers. She reached to take it off. 

"No!" Leal yelled abruptly. Corliss stopped. "It . . . it is a binding spell of sorts. It . . . binds two things together. In your case, binds your lives together. Please, do not remove the necklace." 

"What if I do?" 

Leal hung his head. "You could die. We're not sure . . . no spell like this has been done before." 

"A binding spell?" 

Leal nodded. 

"Who . . .. What did you bind me to?" 

The other members of the circle hung their heads, and turned away. 

"A vampire." 

And Corliss screamed. 

* * *

  
December 26, 1999 

"Hey, Will," Buffy said with a grin. Willow and her were meeting at the mall for some after Christmas bargains, neither of them having gone out of town for winter break. Having made it through one semester of college, it was nice to spend some time with parents. Still, not *that* much time. 

Willow smiled in response. "Hey, Buffy. You have a good Christmas?" 

"Yeah. Mom and I did the whole present thing. It was fun. And you? Did you . . . uh, have a happy Chanukah?" 

Willow laughed slightly. "Nice try, but Chanukah was early this year. It was over before break." 

"Oh, well . . .." 

"It's been a good vacation. Thanks." 

Buffy and Willow wandered a bit through the mall, entering a couple of stores that looked interesting. After some shoe shopping and trying on clothes, they were standing in an eclectic gift shop. Willow was looking through a display of gifts for the millennium, while Buffy stood next to her looking at a bunch of discounted Christmas presents. 

"Hey, Buffy look at this!" Willow exclaimed. 

"Hmm? What is it?" 

Willow held up a black box, with "2000" written on the cover. "It's a millennium keepsake box," she explained. "See?" she said as she opened it. "It's got a journal for thoughts, predictions, resolutions, that sort of thing. And see? A photo album! Wouldn't that be cool?" 

"Huh? I'm sorry, but . . . cool?" 

Willow sighed. "What's up? You seem distracted today." 

"Yeah," Buffy replied. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking. Didn't mean to zone out on you." 

"What were you thinking about?" Willow asked. 

"I . . . just some weird dreams I've been having lately. It's nothing." Buffy pointedly went back to looking at the last Christmas display. 

"Were they . . . you know, *dreams?*" Willow asked worriedly. 

"Why does everyone seem to ask me that? No, they're just dreams!" Buffy answered angrily. 

Willow backed off. "I'm sorry." 

Buffy sighed. "No, it's alright. I'm sorry." She still wasn't looking at Willow; she was looking at things on the discount shelf to avoid contact. "What were you saying about the keepsake box?" 

Willow smiled. "I thought it would be cool for when we all got together for New Years at your house. You know, we could each bring something for the box, write something for the journal, take pictures. It'll be something to look back on, the whole gang." 

But Buffy was distracted again. She was holding a snow globe, one with a Christmas tree inside with a star on top. It didn't take a genius to realize she was thinking about Christmas a year ago, Sunnydale's only white Christmas. Buffy had heard what Willow had said this time, though. "Yeah," she said, a touch bitterly, thinking of friends who'd left, "the whole gang." 

Willow fell silent, hanging her head sadly. For she was missing someone, too, someone who'd left her more recently than Angel had left Buffy. Oz . . . and Willow didn't even know where he had gone. So much for good cheer. 

Buffy laughed slightly, suddenly. Willow looked at her in surprise. "Just look at the two of us. Moping on winter break." She smiled. "That's it, no more moping! I refuse! We'll buy that box, okay, and have fun, just the girls. Okay?" 

Willow smiled weakly. "Yeah, that sounds good." Suddenly, she too chuckled. 

"What?" 

"Do you realize that Xander is the only one of us who's going to have a date this New Years?"   
Buffy chuckled. "Yeah, and Anya yet! I mean, she . . .." 

"Fits Xander's pattern for girls. Ms. French, Ampata . . ." 

"Cordelia." 

Still chuckling, the two girls made their purchase and left the store. 

* * *

  
**Part Three**

The mists obscured the dark keep early in the morning, and everything was damp. Corliss could hide within the mists to approach her enemy, but they could also mask unknown creatures that would hunt her in turn. The Slayer's stomach was twisted in knots, and not just from the coming battle. 

It had taken her three days to recover completely from her wounds, even relying on the vampire's strength. Corliss had never seen the vampire her life was connected to now. The circle had him, they said, their magic keeping him unconscious indefinitely. Though Leal had said nothing, she had the horrible feeling that when this battle was over so would what was left of her life. Why keep the vampire alive when her task was done? 

Perhaps it was the mist that made for such melancholy thoughts. Wherever they came from, Corliss tried to shrug off the feeling that they were right. She clutched a large spear Leal had given her before she left home. Now was the time to kill this sorcerer, the one who had sent the gryphon and taken away her life. 

The dark keep was little more than a set of ruins. It was not the keep itself that was this sorcerer's home, but a set of caves underneath it. He was not human at all, but a part demon that had embraced everything that made evil. In doing so, whatever humanity he had left had disappeared. The gryphon was his creation, created from the essence of a demon and his own dark magic. She would have to defeat him before he could bring more darkness into the world. 

The mists obscured the entrance to the cave, and, Corliss suspected by a magic spell as well. But the mists could not obscure her Slayer senses, and the members of the circle nearby were working to counteract the sorcerer's spells. Hidden behind a large standing stone, surrounded by rubble, was a dark rift in the earth. She descended into the crack, and the darkness at the world's heart. 

Once into the caves, there was no light at all. The Slayer found herself making her way by feel. It was eerie, not knowing where she was, where she was going. *Kind of like what he's done to my life,* she thought bitterly. Then the bitterness turned to anger, an anger that gave Corliss new strength. 

Corliss rounded another corner, and found herself in a suddenly lit room. The torches were dim, but after the total darkness of the corridor it took her eyes a moment to adjust. That moment was all it took, and a blow struck the Slayer in the stomach. She cried out in pain, clutching her stomach and falling to the floor. 

As her vision cleared, she saw her enemy, a dark form towering above her. "Poor dear," he chuckled. 

Corliss's eyes filled with tear of pain. Raising her hand from her stomach, she saw it was stained with blood. She gasped in fear. 

The sorcerer laughed. "Hurts, doesn't it?" 

Corliss made no reply. 

"I did not expect to see you again, girl," the demon-man sneered. His eyes glowed a sickly green in the dim room. "Thought my gryphon took care of you. But it's no matter." He raised his sword menacingly. 

"So this is it?" Corliss asked finally. "You're just going to kill me where I . . . sit?" 

The sorcerer laughed. "You didn't think I'd let you escape, did you? Of course not. If I kill you, it will take a long time before the circle can create a new champion. That was the plan. But walking in here, that is even better." 

"How so?" 

"You don't know?" the part demon said in evil glee. "The circle imbued you with great magic to make you what you are. Now, that magic will be mine. And once it is, there will be no one who can stop me." He looked at her, pained and bleeding, and stood proudly above her. "You are going no where," he said arrogantly, and turned away from her. 

Corliss sat against the wall of the cave, silently watching as the sorcerer prepared his ritual to take the magic that made her the Slayer. Her silence enabled her to observe him, but it also served another purpose. Already the new wound in her stomach was healing, closing with a speed that terrified her. Obviously the sorcerer did not know of the magic that had enabled her to survive the gryphon's attack, the magic that would enable her in moments to strike against him. That was, if she didn't alert him to the change. 

Minutes later, the dark sorcerer still had turned around, and Corliss was feeling certain that she could stand again. Clutching the spear that she had dropped as she fell, the Slayer quietly rose to stand. She leaned on the spear for a moment, clenching her teeth to stifle a pained gasp as the still healing wound protested the movement. The pain faded quickly, and Corliss smiled. 

"Oh, sir," she said with false sweetness, "I believe you have forgotten something." 

"And what would that be," the sorcerer asked as he turned, then looked at her in surprise when he saw her standing, leaning on the spear. 

"This," she declared, and turned the spear quickly in her hand, running the point through his stomach, where he had gotten her twice now. "That is for my life." 

The sorcerer slumped to the ground, surprise still etched on his face as he died. Corliss looked at him for a moment without feeling, then climbed back to the light. 

* * *

  
December 27, 1999 

Giles paced about his living room, silently gathering the various notes he had made in the past day, the additional notes on Buffy's dreams, and a cup of tea. Buffy sat still on his couch, watching as he wandered back and forth without a word. She was silent in turn, and only her eyes moved, but it was a stillness borne of tension. 

When Giles stopped his pacing, but did not appear to be about to speak, Buffy looked up at him in concern. "Should I be worried?" she asked finally. 

"Hmm?" 

"You called me here, said you had something to tell me, and now you won't . . . tell me. Should I be worried?" 

Giles looked startled at the question. "No! No, of course not." 

"Then what's up? You miss me?" 

Giles smiled slightly. "No . . . Well, maybe, but that's not why I called you." 

"So why'd you call?" 

"I, um, discovered the identity of the woman in your dreams." 

Buffy's stillness was broken. She sat forward eagerly, nearly bouncing where she sat. "Really? There's really a person I've been dreaming about?" 

Giles looked at his notes. "Corliss Aethylwyn," he acknowledged. "She was the chosen one somewhere in the late dark ages. The exact date is uncertain." 

Buffy brightened at the mention of the dream woman's name. "And she was a Slayer, like me," she said softly to herself. 

"Well, no." 

"Yes, she was," Buffy said earnestly. She was worried for some reason at being told her dreams were wrong. They couldn't be. "You just *said* she was the Chosen One, Giles." 

Giles shook his head. "She was the Chosen One, Buffy, but she was not a Slayer like you." 

"But . . ." Buffy protested. "I mean, she fought demons, and . . . huh?" 

Giles blinked wearily. "I'm not explaining this well," he acknowledged. "Corliss *was* a Slayer, but she was not one like you. Slayers of her time were . . . actively chosen, created, if you will, by a group of magic-users known as the Circle." 

"Let me guess," Buffy interrupted, "predecessors of the Watchers?" 

"Well, yes, actually. When one Slayer died, they selected an unborn child to become the next Slayer, actually giving her all the abilities that had belonged to her predecessor. The child was born with her abilities, and trained to fight evil from a very young age." 

A moment's pause. "So what changed?" Buffy asked. 

Giles sighed. "Actually, Corliss did. She is the only Slayer of her kind the Watchers have any record of, because she was the last." 

Buffy replied, quietly thoughtful, "Everything changed with her." 

"Yes. She almost died . . ." 

"My dreams," Buffy whispered. Then, with certainty she said, "The Circle saved her. They bound her life to a vampire's, made her immortal." 

Giles looked surprised. "Yes, exactly. A powerful demon . . . a sorcerer . . . thought that by eliminating her, her would have enough time between Slayers to destroy . . . everything. The Circle had no choice but to take any means necessary to save the Slayer they had so that she could destroy him instead. By binding her to a vampire, she could only be killed if the wound would kill them both. Fire, beheading, and a stake through the heart. Killing one of them in any of those ways would kill them both." 

Buffy nodded. These things she knew from her dreams. She had lived these events in her dreams. Still, there was a question she was afraid to ask. "What happened to her, Giles?" she asked softly. "How did she finally die?" 

"Don't you know?" 

Buffy shook her head. "My dreams haven't gotten that far in her life. Last night I watched her defeat the sorcerer." She looked at Giles expectantly, but afraid of what the answer would be. 

Giles shook his head. "I don't know. I doubt anyone does. After defeating the sorcerer, she . . . broke ways with the circle. She stole the vampire they had joined her life with and was never heard from again." 

Strange. That was all Buffy could think. Strange that she truly had been dreaming the life of a real person, someone who had once fought evil like her. Even given up on the Watchers, like her. "Let me guess," Buffy said instead. "The Circle, annoyed with their Slayer going awol, and realizing that making her immortal to fill a time gap was really stupid, become the Watchers and create Slayers like me instead? So they wouldn't have to hand pick them any more as babies." 

"Yes, I suspect so," Giles said surprised. "There is nowhere that says that exactly, but after her defection the Watchers Council was formed and the nature of Slayers changed." 

"And here I always thought I was chosen by those mysterious 'powers that be,'" Buffy said, teasing. Then she thoughtfully added, "Do you think the reason I'm dreaming about her has something to do with the Watchers?" 

Giles sighed. "I'm afraid that may be the case. After all, she did break from them as you have, and her breaking away caused everything to change." 

"What do you think the Watchers will do this time?" 

"I don't know, Buffy. I do know, through a friend in the Watchers who manages to contact me every once in a while, that you left them in a bit of an uproar. They're up to something, she's sure, but she doesn't know what. But I do know one thing." 

"What's that?" 

"Today's Watchers are not the Circle anymore. They are afraid of change." 

* * *

  
**Part Four**

The lake's waters were mirror still, reflecting the gray clouds that filled the sky above them. The reflective surface hid the darkness that lay in the water's depths. Instead, all the eye could see was an endless field of clouds, broken only on the far shore by the image of a heavy stone keep on the edge of the lake. 

Only Corliss could see the lake's dark heart. Today, she had killed to sorcerer's last remaining pet - the very creature that had stolen her life. She held one of its large brilliant feathers in her hand as she looked at the lake. That was where the rest of the gryphon lay - beneath the lake's calm waters. 

Footsteps treaded softly on the dying grass behind the Slayer. She turned slowly to see Leal, the very mage that had trained her, regarding her with a sympathetic and sorrowful gaze. He looked at the feather in her hand. "It's done, then?" he asked softly. 

"It's done." 

Leal sat beside her without a word, silently gazing at the still waters. He plucked a pebble from the earth beside him and tossed it into the lake. Its ripples continued past Corliss's vision. "I have not yet spoken to the Circle about your battle," he said. 

Corliss did not even acknowledge his comment. 

Leal sighed. "The vampire is in an underground room at the rear of the keep. He is guarded by two lower level mages at night only, kept unconscious at all times by magic." He paused briefly. Neither Corliss nor Leal turned from the waters as he spoke. "I meet with the Circle in one hour to report on your progress." With that, he stood and left with no goodbye. It would have been unwelcome anyway. 

A long unbroken silence settled over the placid lake. In her heart, Corliss knew she would never see Leal again. Part of them had parted ways the moment Leal assisted in the binding spell. This final parting left Corliss feeling empty inside. Still, his parting gift warmed her slightly. 

His final words were laden with meaning. He'd told her all she needed to know to live beyond tonight. As much as this immortality was a dark curse, she was not so ready to give up her life. Leal had confirmed her suspicion that the Circle would kill her, however indirectly, once her task was complete. Tonight, Leal would have to inform them that it was. One hour was all the time she had to rescue the vampire, and thus herself. 

Standing, Corliss looked at the gryphon's feather one last time. Slipping it into her belt, she turned her back on the lake, the keep, and the past they stood for. It was time to start a new life. 

Getting into the Circle headquarters was no problem. After all, the mages had nearly raised the young Slayer. The guards at the door never turned her away. Blithely unaware of what would happen tonight, they let her in with a smile. She went unchallenged through the halls as well. Why challenge those supposedly on your own side? 

Quietly, Corliss progressed to the rear of the keep. A set of narrow stairs descended into a series of small rooms, storage rooms that were rarely used. It was here that the vampire would be kept, safe from the sunlight and easily guarded. If Leal were correct, except for servants who might be getting dinner supplies, the narrow corridor would be empty. 

It was. The silence was as tangible as the darkness beneath the keep. Not a soul stirred in the hall. Quietly, Corliss peeked into one room and then another, searching for the creature that shared her life. The first couple were simple storage rooms, but in the third she found her quarry. 

He was a young vampire, his demon face evident even as he rested in a magically induced sleep. No effort had been made to make him comfortable - he was simply laid out on a rough wooden table. Around his neck he wore a pendant that matched the Slayer's own, an oval of bronze with strange markings and a large red stone. 

Corliss regarded the vampire seriously. She'd been worried about getting in here, she'd given little thought to getting out. She could not carry the vampire into the daylight and live. Looking frantically about the room, she finally spotted a large roll of sackcloth, probably used to protect vegetables from rodents. It should be sufficient to protect the vampire from the sunlight. 

Carefully wrapping the vampire fully in the tattered cloth, Corliss listened for any movement in the hallway. Hearing none, she slung the bundled vampire over her shoulders and slipped silently back into the dark hall. She walked in the opposite direction from where she'd come. A second set of stairs connected to the other end of the hall, a servant's access from the kitchens to the storerooms. 

Praying she would meet no one, Corliss carried the vampire up the stairs. Even with her increased strength she was getting tired. Fortunately, there was a door right near the top of the stairs. Unmolested, she carried the vampire out the door and into the remaining sunlight. Then to the stables, where a horse was waiting; more of Leal's silent help. She slung the vampire onto the back of the horse. Mounting as well, she rode from the keep towards the setting sun. No one saw her. No one stopped her. 

Corliss never looked back. 

* * *

  
December 28, 1999 

If there's one thing a vampire can never mistake, it is the scent of blood. After all, it is their sole source of sustenance, that which keeps them undead. The need for blood was the basest of instincts, pure need and the root of their evil. The smell of blood was like nothing else. 

When Angel approached the blood smell, it was not out of hunger. Not that he did not feel the hunger; he couldn't be a vampire and not feel it. But he ignored the hunger, or rather, controlled it. Instead, he approached out of concern for whoever was bleeding. If there was any chance the person could be saved, he could not turn away. 

The small was thick in the darkened L.A. alley. Part of Angel knew that no one person could loose this much blood and live. But if there was any hope, any at all, he had to try and find the injured person. Following the smell, he found her indeed. 

As he drew close, Angel could hear her quick, labored breathing. She was a young woman, maybe fifteen years old with long, dark hair and brilliant green eyes. Her hair was tangled and her clothes tattered. The source of the smell, the wound that was slowly killing her, was a long gash across her abdomen. Her expression was weary and pained. 

Even knowing there was no way she could survive, Angel knelt down beside the girl. "Hold on," he said when her eyes met his, "I'm going to call an ambulance." 

When he began to stand again, the girl grabbed his arm with surprising strength. "Don't," she whispered, "It's long past time for me to die. I want to go." 

Angel had never heard a young woman so ready to give up on life. "Please," he pleaded, "let me try." 

The girl did not let go. "I will not survive the time it takes you to make the call," she said. "You can not do anything. This wound killed me 700 years ago. It's only taken me a long time to die." 

He stared at her for a moment in surprise. Seven hundred years? Even having seen 250 years himself, he could not imagine 700. She seemed just a girl, a dying, human girl, but she'd seen nearly three times the years he had. He could not argue with her will to die. She was probably right about the time she had left, and there was nothing he could do. 

Kneeling beside the girl, Angel looked intently into her eyes. They were bright, but somehow weary, showing her age. She still seemed young and scared, no matter what her eyes said. "Do you want me to . . . do anything?" he asked softly. 

She reached up a bloody hand and grasped his jacket. "Just stay. I don't want to die alone." 

The movement caused her wound to tear, and the blood smell intensified. The demon stirred at that, reminding Angel that he had not fed tonight. He felt his features shift and pulled away from the girl to regain control. 

The girl gasped and tightened her hold on his jacket. "You're a vampire!" the girl breathed. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, Angel managed to return his features to normal. "Yes," he replied softly. 

She looked at him oddly. There was no fear in her eyes. "Why do you care about me, vampire?" she asked curiously. 

Angel knew she did not have time to hear his whole story. He did not wish to explain. Instead, he replied simply, "Because I *care.*" 

The girl's gaze shifted. "And you kill your own kind." 

Angel had forgotten about the stake that he'd taken out when he'd first smelled blood in this alley. It was that her gaze caught. "Yes." 

The girl was silent except for her harsh breathing. She closed her eyes, her brow creased with thought. After a moment she gasped in pain and her eyes flew open. She regarded Angel seriously. "What is your name, vampire?" she whispered. 

"Angel." 

She smiled slightly. "Do you know today's Slayer, Angel?" 

The question caught him off guard. Angel closed his eyes, trying to control the emotions that question stirred up. "Yes. Buffy," he answered in a whisper. 

The girl was looking at him oddly, as if she knew something. It made her seem old. "Could you give something to her . . . or her Watcher, rather . . . for me?" 

Angel did not inform the girl that Buffy no longer worked for the Watchers. He could get something to Giles if he had to. And . . . avoid Buffy again while at it. "Yes." 

"Then take this," the girl said, and reached with a trembling hand to place something in his own. It was an odd bronze pendant, very old, on a heavy chain. "Take the one from around my neck as well. Give them to the Watcher - he will know what they mean." 

Carefully, Angel reached to remove the matching pendant from around her neck. She gasped as he lifted her head slightly to slip it off. When he held both, she smiled and seemed young again. 

"Thank you," she whispered, and then her body seemed to glow. It was an odd, soft light that seemed to consume her from within. Then it was gone, and with it the strange, ancient girl. Only the bloody handprint remained on his jacket to show that she had been there. 

Standing, Angel gazed at the matching necklaces she had handed him and the task they represented. They did not look like much, but they were heavy with meaning. With a sigh he did not need, Angel slipped them into his pocket and turned away, back to the nighttime streets. Whoever she was, he hoped the girl found peace. 

One thing remained, unnoticed behind him; fluttering in the dark, a single, brilliant, purple feather. 

* * *

  
**Part Five**

"Mama C? Are you alright?" 

A tug on her skirt drew Corliss out of her reverie. She'd been distracted easily of late. Something she couldn't identify had been bothering her for weeks. It stirred in the back of her mind, making her restless and irritable. Something was happening, something soon. 

"I'm sorry, Sarah," Corliss assured the small child. "Why are you here? What happened?" 

The girl sniffled. "Mama sent me. I ran all the way . . .." 

"And you tripped, I see. Didn't she tell you not to run?" 

Sarah sniffled again and nodded. 

"Well, why don't you let me have a look at your knee, and you can tell me why your mother needs me." Gently, Corliss lifted the small girl and set her on the table. She reached onto the shelves behind her and pulled out some cloths and bandages. "Now," she said softly, "why does your mother need me?" 

"Something with a cow," the child said softly, swinging her legs. 

Corliss smiled. "Something with a cow? Did she tell you anything else?" 

Sarah shook her head. "I don't remember." 

"Well, that's alright. I'll go to your house and your mother can show me. Is that good?" 

Sarah nodded eagerly, and Corliss smiled again. She liked this town, and its people seemed to like her. Gathering her things, the immortal Slayer reflected on her place in this community. She was a respected, if mysterious figure; a reclusive young woman with no parents and knowledge of the healing arts. She'd lived here for years now. Mostly she saw no one, but occasionally people came to see her when they or their livestock were ill or injured. 

The first basket Corliss grabbed was the wrong one, and reminded her of why else she lived here. It was her weapons basket, filled with stakes and crosses. There were plenty of monsters on this continent that preyed on the new settlers. Vampires had arrived on this shore as well, seeking better hunting with less of their kind around. Entire towns had disappeared to their combined threats. 

Not this town. Corliss took some pride in the fact that she was partially responsible for the fact that the people here had thrived. Neither monsters nor plague had destroyed them yet. Grasping her medical basket, Corliss allowed the small child to lead her to her family's home. 

It was a farm, and one of the larger ones in town at that. Sarah's mother stood in the doorway, and when she saw them she scowled a gestured impatiently for the child to get inside. Sarah scurried to do her bidding and her mother closed the door behind her. Approaching Corliss, her scowl deepened. 

Corliss smiled as pleasantly as she could. "Hell, Mrs. Thomson. Sarah said you needed me, 'something with a cow'?" 

She expected the woman to smile slightly at her light tone of voice. Instead, her scowl deepened even more, and she gestured for the Slayer to follow without a word. Corliss did so, still smiling slightly as she followed Mrs. Thomson into the field. She noticed young Sarah peeking fearfully around the door at her. Corliss waved, but instead of waving back the girl looked stricken and dodged back inside the house. *How odd.* 

Mrs. Thomson led Corliss beyond the farmhouse and into the fields. Corliss was confused. She knew that the field where the Thomsons kept their livestock was on the other side of the house - she could smell it. There was nothing in this direction except corn. 

As they walked together over the hill, that sense of something about to happen became stronger. Corliss looked curiously at Mrs. Thomson, but she avoided the Slayer's glance. There was something very odd going on, and this on top of her already present antsy feeling made her certain something bad was about to happen. 

Corliss hated when her suspicions were correct. There, in the field just beyond sight of the house, stood a number of the villagers, scowls matching the one Mrs. Thomson wore on their faces. The Slayer knew it was bad news when she noticed some of the more respected members of the town. They were not unarmed, either. 

Corliss looked at them all in surprise. "What is this?" she asked softly. Her fear made her sound her apparent age. 

"You, Corliss Aethylwyn, are to stand trial," one of them said. 

"For what?" 

The man looked at her in surprise that she didn't know. "Why, for witchcraft." 

Several of the men circled around her swiftly, and two of them dragged her by the arms and dragged her forward. Playing the helpless young woman, Corliss did not resist. "I don't understand," she protested weakly. 

They pulled her before one of the older men, a hunter by the looks of him, who regarded her for a moment. "I know you," he said softly. 

"You do?" 

"You were on the same ship as me. Young girl, kept to yourself until several of the sailors were injured in a storm. You stirred only to help them." 

"When was this?" the first man asked. 

"15 years ago." 

The older man nodded, then turned to a couple of the men who had stood back until now. Bearing torches, they moved off down the hill. Corliss was filled with dread. 

"No! Not my home!" she pleaded. 

The man in charge grinned slightly. 

Corliss knew she could not play at being a helpless young child any longer. They already knew some of her secret; she could no longer protect that. She could only protect her life now, a life that at any moment might literary go up in flames. If the vampire died, so would she. 

So Corliss fought. She broke the hold of the men holding her quickly and knocked them away from her. She did now stay to tangle with the townsfolk intent on trying her for witchcraft. Instead, she broke immediately from their circle to the woods, trying to run for her home. She would have made it, too, but the hunter lifted his rifle and shot. She felt the pain briefly in her back as she fell, before unconsciousness took her. 

She awoke well into the night, her wound healed. She had been left for dead; after all, what was one dead witch to them? Still, she was alive, so she had a chance to save the vampire once again. She almost turned away for a moment, gave brief thought to giving up on the life she was leading. But she couldn't do that. Even though they had tried to kill her, she could not leave these people to die at the hands of monsters. So instead, Corliss got to her feet and ran for home. 

All that greeted her was the burned out shell of a house. Not just any house. This had been her home, the only place she'd really felt at home since she fled the Circle hundreds of years before. She cared for these people, this place, but it was all over now. Silently, the Slayer entered the ruins of her cottage. She dug through the wreckage with her bare hands, not knowing what she was going to find. All she knew is that she had to find the box where the vampire had slept through the last 100 years. 

She was not prepared for what she did find. The vampire was gone. The box was gone, ashes. Part of her mind insisted that was all that would be left if the vampire had died, but she knew that if that had been the case that would have been all that was left of her as well. No, the vampire had to be alive, and here somewhere. 

Out of the corner of her eye, nearly invisible in the dark, Corliss saw a human form on the floor in the corner. It was not the vampire, not what she expected at all. The fire had not killed this man; a vicious bite mark on his neck showed what had. 

It was the vampire's victim. 

Silently, Corliss cursed herself. That feeling of something stirring, the one that had been bothering her, had not been a sign of the events to come at all. Well, maybe they were, actually, for what she had felt was not herself, but part of the vampire stirring. 

The vampire was awake. 

Fading back into the woods, no one saw the young-old Slayer go. She turned her back on her home and everyone she had come to know. She had a new purpose now, one that would last to her dying day. She had to find this vampire and destroy it. 

She would never be at home again. 

* * *

  
December 29, 1999 

The night's dreams preoccupied Buffy only briefly when she awoke. She would have been thinking of them over breakfast, but she quickly found something new to worry her. It was the newspaper, and a brief article hidden on the corner of the local section. She glanced at this section of the paper a lot, knowing that often recent monster attacks could be hidden within the articles. This article was an attack, but it wasn't demons as far as she could tell. Someone had broken into the Sunnydale Hospital long-term care area, almost killed a coma patient before security, for once doing their job, apprehended the man. No permanent harm was done. 

Buffy saw the article differently. She saw "long-term care" and "coma" and came to an easy conclusion. Faith. 

Taking the article with her, Buffy once again stood at Giles' door. She was surprised to meet Willow on the way there, having seen the same article, and now the two of them waited for the ex-Watcher to answer their knocks. When he did not do so immediately Buffy opened the door. 

The reason for his delay was quickly explained, when Buffy heard Giles talking on the telephone. "Really? To me?" he was saying. "And I'd know what it meant?" 

"Giles!" Buffy called, letting him know who was there. 

Giles looked in her direction, nodding briefly to acknowledge her presence. "Listen, I must go," he said into the telephone. He paused, listening to whoever was on the other end of the call. "Yes," he said finally. Then, "Of course. I'll see you tonight then." He hung up the phone without a "goodbye." 

Buffy was looking at him oddly when he ended the conversation. "Got a date tonight?" she asked with a grin, unable to resist teasing the older man. 

"Certainly not!" Giles said quickly, looking stricken at the thought. 

"I was teasing," Buffy explained. 

"Um, yes, of course." Giles rubbed his eyes for a moment, looking tired. "Why are you two here so early?" he asked finally. 

Buffy handed Giles the article, while Willow explained. "I checked the police report this morning," she said. "It was Faith that was attacked." 

Giles sighed. "I was afraid of this," he said. 

"You were?" Buffy demanded. "Why didn't you say something?" 

"I only came across this last night, myself, Buffy," Giles explained. 

"Came across what?" 

Giles sat down, and the two young women sat down as well, looking at him impatiently. "I was continuing my research on your dreams and the origin of the Slayers," Giles explained. "As I told you before, the Slayers were magically created until Corliss's near death and escape. The Circle had to come up with a new way to create the Slayers." 

"Create the Slayers?" Willow asked bewildered. 

"Yes. The magic they had command of was given . . . a basic instruction, if you will. It now was an entity unto itself, giving its magic to girls of a certain age, meeting strict criteria, and then picking a new girl once she died. Thus, the Circle became the Watchers, finding those girls likely to be picked by their predecessors' magic, and . . . well, you know the rest." 

Willow looked awed. "Wow," she said softly. "That sort of magic . . . I don't think *anyone* today could create that sort of . . . living spell. I mean, magic that lives forever, past when all of its casters have died, and not tied to a new person or an object? I didn't think that was possible!" 

Giles nodded. "It's not." 

"Huh?" Buffy was beyond confused. 

"The Circle got around certain magical restrictions by giving their spell a . . . lifespan, if you will. A time limit." 

"And time's running out," Buffy said in understanding. 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"It will not last beyond the end of this year." 

Buffy looked at him in shock. "Giles! That's only days away! You mean in . . . three days I won't have my powers anymore and there will be no more Slayers?!" 

Giles shook his head. "You will still have your powers. But should either you or Faith die after the new year, your powers will not pass on to a new Slayer. There will be no new Slayers." 

Oddly, Willow started chuckling. When Buffy and Giles looked at her oddly, she explained. "It's like a Y2K bug for Slayers," she said. 

"Actually, that's not that far off," Giles agreed. "The Circle did not think their descendants would be incapable of creating new Slayers." 

"But the Watchers can't do it," Buffy said. "So they attacked Faith so there would be a new Slayer in their control until they figure something out." 

"I'm afraid you'll be in danger as well," Giles explained. "They may try to go after you, having failed to eliminate Faith." 

"No problem, Giles," Buffy assured him. "I just have to live through New Years, and they'll leave me alone. How hard can three days be?" 

* * *

  
**Part Six**

Shadows. That's all they were. All she was. Darkness, created by light. 

Shadows were her dwelling ground, just as the shadows would always be *his.* There was nothing left but shadows. 

That, and her thoughts. As the years had progressed, years where the vampire was awake and at large, the bond had become stronger. Frighteningly so, at times. Corliss could sense the vampire, and she knew he could sense her. They played a constant game of cat and mouse, the Slayer always just one step behind her prey. 

The bond had other effects as time went on, too. Corliss was stronger and faster than any Slayer ever created. Her senses were sharp; she could see clearly across a darkened room, smell things most humans would never notice. Simple wounds healed almost instantaneously, larger wounds never lasted more than a day. 

It never occurred to Corliss that the changes were going both ways. 

Slowly, steadily, she and the vampire were reaching a middle ground. A state of equilibrium. 

No, it never occurred to Corliss that the vampire had things to gain from the bond as well. 

That was, until she awoke to the fact, quite literally. Tracking the vampire by night had caused a substantial shift in Corliss's life, not the least of which was her nocturnal living habits. She slept now when the sun rose and awoke when it set. In her light moments, which were few and far between, she laughed that she slept like the dead. There came a day, though, that she stopped laughing. 

It happened when the sun was at its peak, in a small town in South America. Corliss was sleeping soundly as usual when it awoke her. A hunger - a terrible hunger. Anger and pain. Hate and cruelty. Finally, dark lust, then hunger sated. As quickly as it had exploded in her brain, it was gone, leaving her sitting up in bed, panting for breath. For a moment she thought it had been a nightmare, but she knew she had already been awake. 

Corliss scrambled from her bed in the tiny, hot hotel room. She dressed quickly, pausing only to grab her large, shady hat and a stake, which she hid in her voluminous sleeves. She didn't know exactly where she was going, but she didn't have to know. The sense of her vampire, that very sense that a moment ago had changed into a truly frightening sharing of minds, lead her unerringly to where she would find the truth. 

She found the place soon enough, and she was not the only one who had been drawn here. Where she had been drawn by something unnamable, however, they had been drawn by something much more tangible. Screams. 

A small crowd had already gathered, but the body had not been touched. Rather, the villagers backed away in fear, gawking at a safe distance. Corliss wove through them, fearlessly approaching the young woman who lay dead in the street. Her face was frozen in terror. Gently, Corliss moved her head so she could see the wound that had killed her. There, clear as day, was a vicious bite mark. 

A woman sobbed at the street corner, her head buried in her husband's shoulder. "Vampiro, vampiro," she sobbed. 

The wound was new. The dead woman's skin was still warm, and the blood on her neck had not yet had time to dry. Suddenly Corliss felt a new fear. This attack had taken place in broad daylight. Her vampire could walk in the day. 

She had little time for that concern, though, before she found another. Her hands were damp with the woman's blood, and something stirred at that. A very dark part of her, one that merged slowly with the vampire, reached with desire towards the blood. It was hungry. 

Corliss pulled away with a sob, scrambling away from the vampire's kill. She knew now. She could deny it no longer. The longer she stayed connected to the vampire, the more like him she became. It turn, he became more like her, walking in the day, bringing chaos as he walked among the humans. It was her fault - her fault that he could do this, her fault that he was alive at all. 

No one bothered her as she cried in the street. In the dark corner of her mind that belonged to him, the vampire laughed. 

* * *

  
December 30, 1999 

Neither the vampire not the ex-Watcher had slept all night. This wasn't unusual for Angel of course, because, well, he's a vampire. He could still go for a while without sleep. Giles, on the other hand, had also gotten very little sleep the night before, so this morning he sat nursing a mug of coffee to stay awake while trying to make some sense of the information the two of them had managed to put together. 

The items spread out on the table were an odd lot. Two strange necklaces, the markings on which Giles was still trying to interpret; several books on magical artifacts plus a guide to non-human, non-demon beings; a purple feather too large to have come from any known bird, and a large pile of assorted papers and notes. None of them had really gotten him anywhere. 

The two of them did not speak to each other now as they worked. They had not come up with much during the long night, for all that Angel's mysterious girl had said that the Watcher should know what the necklaces meant. The nearest thing he could find to them in any of the books were talismans used for an ancient marriage ritual between mages. However, the markings were completely wrong. Staring at his notes, Giles rubbed his eyes briefly in fatigue. 

Angel stopped writing suddenly, looking at the paper he was holding critically. "I think I've got it," he said, and handed the paper to Giles. 

It was a sketch; an amazingly lifelike sketch of a young girl. This was the girl Angel had seen die and disappear, who now peered sadly from the page. Giles had the oddest feeling he had seen her before. 

When the realization came to him, he silently berated himself for not thinking of it earlier. He had seen the girl before, in drawings at least. Angel looked at him oddly as he stood, muttering. 

"What is it?" the vampire asked. 

Giles returned to the table where they had been doing their research, carrying another book. "I can't believe I did not think of this," he muttered. "Buffy's been having dreams lately, of a Slayer in the distant past." Giles quickly flipped open the book he held, until he found the picture he wanted. 

Angel's eyes widened when he saw the same girl on these pages. He looked at Giles questioningly. 

"It never occurred to me that this girl might be connected," Giles explained. "They're one and the same." 

"How?" Angel asked. "She said she was 700 years old, remember? I've never heard of an immortal Slayer." 

Before Giles could reply, the door opened noisily. "Giles!" the familiar voice said as she entered, closing the door behind her, "I had the worst dream last night! You see . . ." Her voice trailed off as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. "You look awful. Did you sleep at all last night? And why is it so dark in here?" 

Angel moved subtly, drawing her attention to his presence. 

Buffy looked stricken. "Angel," she said. 

"Buffy," Angel replied softly. 

Giles cursed inwardly. This was not going to be good. "Don't any of you know how to knock?" he muttered. 

Buffy did not hear him. "What are you doing here?" Buffy asked Angel coldly. 

"I-" Angel began to say. 

"No!" Buffy said, yelling now. "You agreed to stop doing this to me! If you're going to be away, than stay away! Stay out of my life!" 

Angel said nothing in response. He caught Giles' gaze with his own for a moment, then silently walked out of the room. 

Giles looked at the Slayer, still seething in anger. "He had something to give me, Buffy," he explained. "He would have left last night as soon as he'd done so, but he wouldn't have made it home before sunrise." 

Buffy gritted her teeth. "I don't care," she said slowly. "Couldn't he have just written you a letter? Sent whatever it was in the mail?" 

"No," Giles explained. "It was too important. It . . . well, it has to do with your dreams." 

"It does?" Buffy asked oddly, her anger not forgotten, but momentarily ignored. She crossed over to the table where Giles and Angel had spent the night researching, her eyes falling on the picture, the feather, and the necklaces. She picked the last item up, then looked at Giles sadly. "She's dead, isn't she?" Buffy asked softly. 

Giles nodded slowly. "Yes." 

"How?" Then Buffy shook her head, dismissing the question. "No, I know how. She had to kill the vampire that saved her life. That was all she had left, that duty. She must have finally done it." She sighed, replacing the necklace besides its mate, her fingers briefly grazing the feather. "How did Angel get these?" she asked softly. 

"He was there when she died. Two nights ago. She gave them to him, told him to bring them to me." 

Buffy sat at the table, staring at the picture in silence. 

Giles knelt in front of her to catch her gaze. "What exactly is wrong?" he asked. 

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know. I guess . . . with these dreams, I felt really close to her. Almost like she was a part of me. A very good friend who had let me see her life. And now she's dead . . . and I don't know what to think of that." 

"What did you dream of last night?" 

Buffy shivered. "It was really weird, Giles. She could, like, feel the things the vampire did. She felt when he made a kill, and it was in the middle of the day. Because of the bond, they were becoming more like each other. She was terrified, Giles, and she knew then that she had to kill him. As much because of the part of her that was becoming him as because of what he could do." She looked up at Giles seriously. "That's how I know how she died. Because there was nothing left in her life but to kill that vampire." 

For a long moment the two of them sat in silence. Buffy glanced at the picture Angel had drawn, sighed, then stood abruptly. Giles stood as well. "I have to go, Giles," she said, glancing in the direction Angel had gone. "I'll . . . I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Before you go," Giles interrupted gently, "you haven't had any . . . trouble yet, have you?" 

"You mean, have any of your ex-friends shown up to try and kill me?" Buffy asked, smiling slightly. "No, I'm fine. And only two more days to go." With that she spun around and walked out of his house before anything else could keep her there. 

Giles stared at the door, which closed behind her. "You heard everything?" he asked the vampire he knew was standing behind him. 

"Yes," Angel replied softly. 

Giles could see the pain in his eyes, and reluctantly felt a bit of sympathy for the vampire. "It's the spell that makes the Slayers," Giles explained. "It will be unable to call any new Slayers once the new year comes. There has already been an attempt on Faith's life." 

"She can't die," Angel said desperately. 

"I know. Could you . . . stay around for a couple of days?" 

Angel cringed. "She won't like it." 

"She won't know." 

"Yes, she will." After a moment, Angel continued. "You know, it's not going to just end come the new year. If the vampires ever get wind of this, it's just going to get harder." 

"I know." 

* * *

  
**Part Seven**

The screams were a familiar part of her life, now. Sometimes, she wasn't sure whether they were real or simply within her own mind. Of course, there was nothing simple about her mind these days. Quite often the screams were real and in her mind - or, more specifically, the vampire's. Corliss could block her mind from the vampire's, but he did not return the courtesy. Besides, she could not find him as well when she closed him off. 

This scream, though, this one was real in every sense of the word. It echoed in her mind. It was a scream of mortal terror, the scream of someone dying. The vampire, in the back of her mind, rejoiced in her screams as he fed. The Slayer felt nothing; she'd long since used up all of her tears. 

It took her a moment before she realized that the same screams she heard in her mind were echoing off the walls around her as well. Actually, it was not until the two cries cut off in unison that she recognized this fact. The sense of her vampire, momentarily sated of his need for blood, stirred more nearby than it had ever been. 

Resolution. It would all end tonight. 

When Corliss entered the alley, the vampire straightened, his back to her. He dropped his prey with a sickening thud, and laughed darkly. "You've come to commit suicide?" he asked. 

"I've come to end this." 

The vampire turned, regarding her unemotionally in the dark. He looked exactly as she remembered him. It was the years in her head that made him in particular to be a monster. He smiled at her in the darkness. "Then end this." With that, he attacked. 

Corliss joined the battle without hesitation. She parried his awkward blows with strong, fast fists, one of which clasped a sharp stake. It did not take her long to notice that he, too, had some disadvantages from their bond. While he had gained the ability to hunt in the sunlight, he had lost some of his speed and agility to her. It was a perfectly even match. 

But the ancient Slayer was determined, vengeful and angry for the years she had to live with him, sharing her life. She knew she was going to die; she welcomed it. And so she dove into the vampire's deadly embrace, grasping the necklace he wore and pulling it from around his neck with all of her strength. While the vampire gaped at her in surprise, she pulled away to plunge her stake into his chest. Neither of them said anything as he exploded to dust. 

It was over. For a moment she breathed a sigh of relief, a breath that became a gasp as pain began to spread from her stomach. She sank to her knees in the cold alley, grateful for the pain. She had not felt its like in 700 years, not real pain. 

Corliss lay in the darkness, waiting to die. There were no regrets, not really. Maybe once she had regretted that she couldn't have lived and died as a normal person, but she was empty of that now. It was appropriate that she die alone. After all, that's what she truly, finally was. Alone. 

As the world began to blur around her, Corliss' still enhanced senses picked up the sounds of approaching footsteps. Part of her hoped that they would continue on their way; another part welcomed seeing a final, friendly face. It had been so long since she'd seen a friendly face - she doubted she'd be seeing one now. 

But the fates were kind in the end, and the one who approached her meant her no harm. He was a handsome man, dressed all in black with a wooden stake in one fist. A fighter like herself, then, who might care if someone died. He knelt close when he found her, and spoke with urgency. "Hold on. I'm going to call an ambulance." 

Corliss grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving. She couldn't let him. "Don't. It's long past time for me to die. I want to." 

The man's face took on a pleading expression. "Please, let me try." 

Corliss would not release him. She had the odd urge to explain it all to him, so someone would know her, but not the time. "I will not survive the time it takes you to make the call. You cannot do anything. This wound killed me 700 years ago. It has only taken me a long time to die." 

His eyes went wide with surprise when she revealed her age. He stopped resisting her, however, and knelt calmly beside her as she released her hold. With compassion for the dying, he asked, "Do you want me to . . . do anything?" 

Reaching for his jacket again sent fresh waves of pain through her, but she had to do it. She would not be alone in the end. "Just stay," she gasped out. "I don't want to die alone." 

The man's reaction to her touch was far different than she expected. With a slight growl, he tried to pull away again, this time to hide his face from her. A horrible face it was, suddenly, demonic with golden eyes. A familiar face, though. 

"You're a vampire!" 

The vampire's expression was hard to read through the change. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they were brown again, his face normal. "Yes." 

It was cruel, that the one who should see her last moments would be a vampire. But something did not fit - he had wanted to help her. A vampire would not help those it would kill. She did not have much time left for him to ply her with false hope. "Why do you care about me, vampire?" 

"Because I *care*." 

It was a simple answer, but Corliss understood a deeper meaning. No vampire - no true, normal vampire - ever cared for another. Especially not a human. Perhaps one of their own kind, one who made them or whom they made, but never in her experience did they really care for a human they had never met. Besides, there was another matter, that of the stake still clenched in his hand, forgotten. "And you kill your own kind." 

"Yes." 

The pain was coming in waves now, and Corliss had to close her eyes to think at all. A regret, one, odd regret, had sneaked up on her as she spoke. All these years she had owed her life to a vampire, one who no more asked to be in that situation than she had. She had lived with him in her head, hunted him down, and finally killed him, yet she had never learned his name. It was such a small thing to bother her, but it suddenly felt important. There was only one way she could think of to make up for it. "What is your name, vampire?" she whispered. 

The vampire seemed surprised at this request. "Angel," he replied. 

One, final thing was bothering Corliss as she felt her death approach, but she perhaps had a solution now. She did not want to die alone, true, but she also did not want to die unnoticed, unknown. Perhaps this odd fighter knew more of today's world than she did. "Do you know today's Slayer, Angel?" 

It was a dangerous request she had for a vampire. Any demon in their right mind avoided the Slayer, any vampire especially. Still, this vampire had already surprised her more than once. He did so again. 

"Yes," he said, his eyes closed again as if warding off memories, "Buffy." 

What an odd reaction. Corliss may not have spent much time in the last several decades around people, but she knew enough to notice certain things. The expression on the vampire's face was not one of a demon thinking of the Slayer, but something very different and deeper. Painful in a personal way. *Ah, you're more than familiar with her, aren't you, Angel?* She continued with her request. "Could you give something to her . . . or her Watcher, rather . . . for me?" 

"Yes." Another surprise. 

"Then take this." Corliss reached out and placed the necklace she held in Angel's hand. "Take the one from around my neck as well. Give them to the Watcher - he will know what they mean." 

She gasped in fresh pain, her vision dim, as Angel shifted her head so that he could remove the necklace she had worn since this all began. The Watchers had begun this. Now they would know it was over. Corliss smiled. "Thank you," she whispered with her very last breath, and then the world around her, her prison, faded away. 

*It's over.* 

* * *

  
December 31, 1999 

It was very strange, but Buffy just didn't feel like a part of the group tonight. They had gathered in Xander's basement for New Years. There was plenty of junk food, silly movies to watch, and things to talk about, plus the keepsake box Willow had bought. As a matter of fact, everyone else seemed to be having a good time. 

No, Buffy had other things on her mind. Giles had actually requested that Buffy not patrol tonight, concerned for her welfare with the Council's killers still in town. He wasn't the only one concerned for her, though, as the little time tonight Buffy had been outside she had felt Angel nearby. 

She couldn't explain the whole reason she was mad with Angel, and the whole reason she'd been distracted the last two days. It was connected to Angel, but it wasn't his fault, really. It was Corliss, the Slayer whose life Buffy had been living in dreams. 

Last night, she had seen Corliss's death. Experiencing it wasn't what disturbed Buffy; it was that Corliss had died at all. For the last week the dreams had become a part of her. Now that part was gone. What bothered her more, though, was that the dreams had been a very private thing. The ancient Slayer had shared parts of her life that no one else would ever see. To have her life ended in such a way that privacy was shattered . . .. That was the root of her anger. 

Corliss had died in L.A., of all places, and on such a street that Angel might be drawn to her death. The coincidence was phenomenal, but there it was. Corliss's life was Buffy's and Buffy's alone to know, but now everyone knew her death. Angel had been the only one to actually see her alive, and now he and Giles studied her death like it was a puzzle to be solved. 

Buffy knew her feelings were silly, but she couldn't help it. As she watched her friends - or not-friends, in the case of Spike - she could not bring herself to join in their fun. She kept going back to the night's dreams, playing them in a continuous loop. 

Suddenly Buffy stood. Willow glanced up at her and frowned. "Where are you going?" she asked. 

Buffy sighed. "I just need some air." 

"But . . ." 

"I'm taking a walk, Willow. I'll be back." Buffy left before anyone else could protest. She didn't want to explain herself to anyone. She couldn't. 

The night did little to calm Buffy's restless thoughts. It did not help that the night reminded her of Angel, and that she knew he was near. It just kept bringing Buffy back to her dreams. Dreams of the dead. Her steps continued without thought to guide them down the darkened Sunnydale streets. 

Her distracted reverie meant she did not hear the car until it was almost on top of her. It sped noisily down the street, its squealing tires bringing Buffy back to her senses. *Too much to drink already,* she thought, stepping further onto the sidewalk to avoid the car should it swerve. 

It wasn't the car itself she should have been wary of though, but its passengers. Not so drunk, they watched her step back and slowed as they came near. 

Buffy's senses were assaulted. A shot rang out. Pain blossomed. 

A scream. "Buffy!" 

The killers racing on, their job done. 

Then the fall, and darkness. 

* * *

  
He had seen the gun only a split second before the shot had been fired, but there was no way he could get to her before she was hit. Angel watched in horror as her body felt the impact and began to sink to the ground. He was not aware of his own scream as he ran towards her. 

"Buffy!" 

There was so much blood. For a moment Angel's thoughts went as dead as his heart, but then he heard her weak heartbeat. She was still alive, but barely and fading fast. Angel panicked. She would never make it to the hospital, and he could not leave her. The panic ebbed but did not die when his surroundings came through to Angel. Buffy's wanderings had brought them very close to Giles's house. Quickly Angel scooped the dying Slayer into his arms and ran to Giles's home. They did not have a lot of time. 

He did not pause when he reached Giles's door, but rather used the brute strength of his own body to run right through it. Giles looked up in fearful surprise at the intrusion, then gasped when he saw Angel's burden. He led Angel to lay her on the couch quickly. 

"What happened?" he asked urgently. "The council . . .?" 

"I think so," Angel replied softly, not tearing his attention from Buffy, lying still and near death. 

"We need to get her to the hospital," Giles began to say. 

"There's not enough time." 

Giles stilled at that. "Oh." Then, as if they were his final words to them both, "I'm sorry." 

"No!" Angel yelled suddenly, tearing his gaze from Buffy to glare at the ex-Watcher. "We have to do something!" 

Giles shook his head. "I can't. Even if I could . . . this is the way it has to be. Another," he looked devastated at this, "another Slayer will be called." He was silent then, already mourning for the girl he thought of as a daughter. 

"No, there won't be," Angel whispered. "It's already past midnight in England. The new year has already begun." 

Giles sank to the floor beside Angel and Buffy. "Oh," he whispered. "Oh my." 

The two of them sat for a while in silence. Angel's heart broke a little more with each of Buffy's weakened heartbeats. They were growing weaker by the second. There was nothing they could do now but wait and watch her die. 

A glint of red on the table caught Angel's eye, and he looked at Giles sharply. There was a way . . . "Giles," he said urgently, "the binding ritual." 

It took Giles a moment to realize what Angel meant, and when he did to scowled. "No," he replied sharply. 

"Why?" Angel cried. "It's the only way!" 

Giles was angry now. "Do you have any idea what that will do to her?" he yelled. 

Angel shook his head. "It doesn't matter." 

"Yes, it does! I can not force that sort of immortality on anyone!" 

"If she hates me for it," Angel replied softly, "I'll let you stake me." 

Giles seemed to consider that seriously for a moment. The two men, forever untrusting of each other, regarded each other in silence. Many things passed between them at that moment. 

Angel knew that Giles suspected him of asking for this for a far more selfish reason: the chance to see sunlight again, to come closer to humanity. But those things did not matter; he had already given them up twice. All that mattered was Buffy. 

Giles saw this resolution in Angel's look, and recognized something else. Both of them would gladly die if it meant they could save Buffy's life. It was all for Buffy. 

"Let's do it, then." 

For Buffy, and for the world. 

* * *

  
**Epilogue**

January 1, 2000 

"We're just pawns, you know," she said. "Even once we've escaped that still comes back to get us. They made us, after all. But there comes a point where you have to refuse to be a pawn any longer." 

Mists curled around the small rowboat, eddying around them. Aside from the other girl's soft voice, the rippling of the waters was the only sound. Corliss held the oars, moving the craft slowly through the waters. She was dressed in all white in the style of the period into which she had been born, but she looked different than she had in any of the other dreams. She looked older, ageless somehow. 

"What is this?" Buffy asked softly. 

Corliss laughed lightly. "A dream, silly. What did you think it was?" 

Frowning, Buffy replied, "It's different." 

"Of course it is." 

A pause. "Listen, if you have something to tell me, could you just say it? I'm really tired of cryptic messages." 

Corliss continued to row. "Patience, Slayer. We're not there yet." 

"Where?" 

"You'll see." 

They continued for a ways in silence, except for the lapping of the water. As she rowed, Corliss began to hum, a soft, lilting tune. Buffy did not recognize it, so she guessed it was something from Corliss's past, a lullaby or a folk song. She did begin to recognize where they were, though. The mists thinned as they traveled revealing the edges of the lake. On the shore stood the ruins of a castle-like structure. Only the dock right at the edge of the lake stood intact. It did not take much imagination to recognize this as the same lake from the first dream, the manor where Corliss grew up. 

The dead Slayer stopped rowing, and the boat drifted for a moment. "Here," she said. 

"Where? What?" 

"Here is where the gryphon lies." 

"In death?" Buffy asked. 

Corliss shook her head. "In dreams. And maybe, if this place still exists, under this lake in reality. But in death? That's still up to you." 

"I don't understand." 

The older girl regarded Buffy seriously. "We're two of a kind, you know," she said. "Both the last of our kind, Slayers of different legacies. We both got sick of just being pawns, turned away from the Watchers who made us. Now, we've both faced the gryphon . . . and lost, in a way. But whether you continue on my path is up to you." 

"How's that?" 

Corliss sighed, a touch regretfully. "I hope you make better use of your immortality than I did," she explained. "I had hundreds of years where my only companions were pain, grief, and loneliness. The gryphon's legacy made for very sad drinking partners." She looked seriously at Buffy, her voice intense. "You could finally destroy the gryphon and everything it left behind. Where I had only pain, you could have companionship; where I had grief, there are those who would offer you solace. And as for loneliness – if you want it, if you try – you could have love. But only you can make those choices." 

They said nothing for several long moments. Buffy looked behind them at the dock. A lone figure, obscured by the remaining mists, stood there in silence. "We need to go back," Buffy said. 

"I can go no further with you," Corliss replied gently, making no move to take the oars. She, too, looked towards the dock, then smiled slightly at Buffy. "He's waiting for you," she said. 

Another glance to the shore revealed the final parting of the mists, and the figure's identity was laid bare. "What if I don't want to see him?" Buffy asked. 

Corliss shook her head slightly. "He'll always be there," she explained, "for when you're ready to face him again, and forgive him." 

"Forgive him?" 

"For wanting you to live." 

A moment's thought. "And if I'm ready now?" 

The older Slayer smiled. "Take the oars, Buffy. The path is yours." 

And so it was. 

(No, I'm not planning to write a sequel. If anyone wants to, feel free to e-mail me! cynamin@hotmail.com) 


End file.
